The 3-Way

You might say Lilys frontman Kurt Heasley is a world- class thief, and
possibly a limey wannabe. It's no ...

You might say Lilys frontman Kurt Heasley is a world- class thief, and
possibly a limey wannabe. It's no secret he's probably worn out many a copy
of the Kinks' Village Green Preservation Society. But the guy's also
as sophisticated a pop writer as we've got. And he's responsible for some
of the stealthiest ripoff artistry since Steve Wynn and the Dream Syndicate
so cleverly robbed the Velvet Underground's crypt for all it was worth on
1982's classic Days of Wine and Roses. Heasley's ransacking encompasses
almost the entire stylistic sprawl of the '60s on the groove- a- minute shindig
that is The 3-Way.

Although some critics accuse him of stealing Ray Davies' identity outright,
Heasley has forged his own multifaceted re-tailoring of '60s mod- rock.
And sure, Davies' influence looms large over songs like the
harpsichord- laced "And One (on One)" and "The Spirits Merchant." And on
"The Generator," there's some nice piano work worthy of Charlie Brown's
ivory- tickling pal Schroeder, and some cheeky "Oye Como Va," guitar
quotes. To round things out, there's a nod to Mitch Ryder's revved- up
Motor City car- rock on "Dimes Make Dollars," and the bubbly Lawrence Welk
jazz of "Solar is Here."

Oh, and you can shake your ass to some of this stuff, too: in fact, "Leo
Ryan (Our Pharoah's Slave)" is the funky intersection in which James
Brown's "Cold Sweat" might cross paths with the Beatles' "The Word."
Believe me, if you can sit still to this song, your backside's probably
made of the same lead- like compound as Pam Anderson's former breasts.
"Socs Hip" may, at first, cause your hips to twist and grind. Then you'll
get a chance to put your ballroom dance lessons into practice. The song
suddenly shifts to the rattling castanets and smooth rhythmic glide of a
Spanish tango. Then, just as quickly, it regroups and recasts itself as
pure Standells pop. All throughout The 3-Way, there's a host of
suprising tempo shifts, rhythm variations, time signature quirks, odd chord
changes-- none of which seems to really inhibit the innate simplicity or
forward motion of any particular song.

What's wholly original here, though, is the way Heasley arranges and
incorporates all his filched musical bric a brac: banjo, toy piano, loopy
Hammond organ, free jazz, harpsichord and cheeseball pastiches of European
and South American musical styles are all harmoniously grafted onto
bare- bones garage- rock. And all those big fuzz- guitar hooks are a real
gas-- some at least as immense as the main riff to Count Five's "Psychotic
Reaction."

As we've seen, the Greg Dulli's and Brian Jonestown Massacres of the world
celebrate the '60s resurgence by throwing gaudy hipster costume parties,
and buying shitloads of expensive Vox equipment. And, as an afterthought,
the guys record hilariously bad albums that suck hard no
matter what decade they're supposed to represent. For the Lilys, '60s
references are modeled like so much trendy clothing... which, of course, makes
for plenty of cut- rate resale material when the fancy inevitably passes.

And if the Lily's seem too prim and precious, well, I guess there's always
the option of buying into all the half- assed greaser rock available out
there. Or you could force yourself to love the increasingly popular cliques
of critically- acclaimed avant- noisemakers: you know, those overly- serious
Lower East Side- dwelling savants who give themselves stomach cancer
attempting to transform one note drones and pick scratchings into something
symphonic. Meanwhile, right under our collective noses, Kurt Heasley
and the Lilys are making off with all the great hooks and still having all
the damn fun.